


Dangerous Animals

by Saucery



Series: Hartwin Stories [4]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Adventure, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Class Differences, Creeper Harry, Creepy Fluff, Death Wish, Drama, Humor, Immortality, Immortals, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Obsession, Plotty, Possessive Behavior, Predator/Prey, Protectiveness, Romance, Self-Discovery, Size Difference, Stalking, Strength Kink, Suicidal Thoughts, Suits, Supernatural Elements, Training, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3582426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saucery/pseuds/Saucery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a terrible vampire. Eggsy is a terrible hunter. Thank goodness they’re both terrible at what they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangerous Animals

**Author's Note:**

> Eggsy doesn’t actually know he’s a hunter, to start with. So. Bear that in mind.
> 
> The title is from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B5hqOXcPjus) Arctic Monkeys song.

* * *

 

Eggsy opened the door to find Digby’s sugar daddy standing outside.

At least, he assumed it was Digby’s sugar daddy; all Eggsy knew about the bloke was that he was apparently loaded and was in his forties, or possibly his fifties, and this man fit the bill. He had on a bespoke suit that probably cost more than Eggsy would ever make in his lifetime, and shoes made of a leather so expensive that it gleamed like melting butter in the late afternoon sun. He was also wearing a pair of sunglasses that Eggsy was positive were from a fashion catalog, and for some reason, he had a massive black umbrella open above him, shading his uncannily symmetrical face. As if that wasn’t enough, the umbrella’s handle ended in a claw. A lion’s claw, hooked and sharp and deadly.

He was the exact mix of creepy and classy that Eggsy presumed was typical for a sugar daddy. Not that Eggsy had ever met one, until now.

“Oh, come on, then,” Eggsy said, beckoning him in with a sigh. Digby had popped out to get a pack of smokes, but he’d be back, soon.

The man… paused. “You’re inviting me in,” he said, in a tone of mild disbelief, like he’d been expecting to be asked to jump through hoops of fire before being welcomed into Eggsy’s undeservingly humble abode.

“Um. Yeah. You’re Digby’s—” What to call him, without being rude? “—boyfriend, aren’t you?”

All Eggsy got in response to that was a raised eyebrow, and the distinct lack of a rebuttal. Instead, the man stepped in, closing his umbrella and hanging it on the coat-rack that was really just a teetering, rusty pole with spokes on it.

“My name is Harry Hart,” he said, extending his hand to be shook.

Eggsy took it gingerly; it was cool and dry and strangely smooth, like vellum from an ancient book. That was because it didn’t have any calluses, Eggsy realized. How bizarre. Did all rich people have hands like these? They must not even have to make themselves tea.

“I apologize for the delay in introducing myself.”

“That’s, er. That’s fine. Harry. I’m Eggsy. Digby might’ve mentioned me.”

“He didn’t,” Harry said, calmly, “largely because I’ve never met him.”

Eggsy froze. “What?”

“You shouldn’t let utter strangers into your home, Eggsy,” Harry chastised, gently, taking off his sunglasses and folding them into the breast-pocket of his suit. “You don’t know who they could be.”

Sodding hell. Eggsy had practically laid out the red carpet for a serial killer. A posh serial killer, but still. There was no other explanation for the man’s creepiness, if he wasn’t given to buying extravagant gifts for boys less than half his age in exchange for sexual favors.

Harry tilted his head, his nostrils flaring. “You’re afraid,” he said, for all the world as if he could smell Eggsy’s fear. It was bloody terrifying. “You need not be. I am not here to harm you. Quite the opposite.”

“What do you mean, opposite?” Eggsy backed away, subtly angling himself toward the kitchen, where there was a knife to defend himself with. He wasn’t going to wind up murdered in his miserable flat with the pointy end of an umbrella. “Do you reckon _I’ll_ harm _you_?”

“Well,” Harry said, delicately, as though he were about to make an indecent proposal. Maybe the pervert was into getting spanked before dismembering his victims. “There is no other way to put it, but…” He coughed. “I want you to kill me.”

“What,” Eggsy said, flatly. He stopped backing off. This fellow was barmy. Perhaps Eggsy should be edging toward the cordless phone, not the cutlery drawer. He ought to be dialing the local hospital so that Harry “Kill Me” Hart could get his brain examined.

“I understand that my request might be alarming,” Harry said, clearly not understanding _at all_ , “but you will be generously compensated for your efforts.”

“My efforts?”

“There are very specific tools that will be required to kill me, tools that I will supply.”

“No,” Eggsy said. “Just. No. I’m nobody’s pet assassin. Is it about insurance? Did your wife dump you? Whatever it was that caused your mental breakdown, I’m sorry, mate, but we poor folk won’t do _anything_ for money. You can’t waltz into the nearest hovel and demand to be assassinated. This is ridiculous.”

“You don’t want to kill me,” Harry said, in the same tone of mild disbelief he’d had earlier. “You feel no… instinct to hunt me? To make me your prey?”

Digby hadn’t posted a prank personal under Eggsy’s name on a kinky website, had he? It would be a Digby thing to do. Although he couldn’t be daft enough to share their address. Unless he was drunk when he did it. Shite. “Uh. No,” Eggsy said. “Absolutely not.”

Was it Eggsy’s imagination, or did Harry’s broad, perfectly-suited shoulders sag slightly in disappointment? “Oh. That’s… troubling. However, I am certain that, with training and with sufficient encouragement, you will rediscover your natal instincts.”

“My what, now? Mr. Hart, I have no idea what about me screams ‘murderous sadist,’ but I’m an ordinary uni student on a barely-sufficient scholarship. My most pressing concerns are paying for my degree, keeping my mum’s bastard ex away from her, and pretending my flatmate’s pseudo-prostitution doesn’t bother me. Killing tossers with silver spoons up their arses isn’t high on my list.”

“I could pay for your degree,” Harry offered, “and I could eliminate the threat to your mother.” A ray of fading sunlight hit Harry’s eyes, and they glinted, like struck flints. There was an ember-red flicker in their depths, but that had to be an illusion.

“El… Eliminate?”

Harry turned away from the light, toward the wall, as if suddenly taken with the horrible wallpaper. He studied it like it was a fresco by Michelangelo. “Death visits us all, eventually,” he said. “If we are fortunate.”

Just how badly _did_ he want to die? And was he seriously suggesting what he seemed to be suggesting? Not that Eggsy didn’t still fantasize about beating in his ex-stepfather’s ugly mug, but—like Eggsy had said—he wasn’t a killer.

Before Eggsy could reply, the door creaked and swung open, and there stood Digby, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He gawked at Harry, who extracted a wallet from somewhere, pulled out a wad of cash thick enough to bribe a minor politician, and presented it to Digby, like an award.

“You must be Digby,” he gushed, with false effusiveness. “Eggsy has told me so much about you.”

“Has he?” Digby grinned, taking the money like it got handed to him regularly. Which Eggsy was definitely not thinking about. “Was it about what a brilliant friend I am?”

“The best,” Harry assured him. “Would you be a dear and go out for a bit of a walk?”

“Ah-ha,” Digby said, winking at Eggsy obnoxiously. “Finally catching on, eh? Good for you. I’ll make that walk last a couple of hours.”

“Don’t,” Eggsy said, not sure if he was more horrified by Digby’s obvious deduction that Eggsy had found a sugar daddy, too, or by the prospect of being alone with Harry. “Please stay.”

“Teaching you how to say ‘please,’ is he? Never heard you bein’ polite, before.” Digby doffed an invisible hat at Harry, winked again, and departed. Traitor.

Eggsy fought the urge to smash the kitchen window and escape using the rickety ladder outside. “Why do you think I’m a killer?” he demanded, at last.

Harry considered him, before ambling to the sagging sofa in the lounge and sitting on it, as regally as if it were a throne. “My investigation into you—”

“What investigation?” Eggsy yelped.

“The one I paid for. Be silent, child, and listen. My investigation into you revealed that you are Gary Unwin, a nineteen-year-old sports education student, and that you are, as you said, an ordinary young man, not trained in the arts of your ancestors. Your father died before he could train you, and your mother withheld the truth from you, so that you would not follow him in his rather… dangerous… profession.”

Eggsy’s heart thudded. He sank onto the far end of the sofa, because this—this was what he’d always suspected, that his Da had been involved in something extraordinary, something complicated and risky, be it criminal or otherwise. Harry was plainly a disturbed individual, but if he’d paid for the investigation that Eggsy had always wanted to conduct, himself, then Eggsy would tolerate his dubious company for a while longer.

“You are very, very special, Eggsy. More than you can comprehend. You are the sole remaining hunter on earth—or rather, the sole surviving individual carrying the blood of the [Kresniks](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krsnik_\(vampire_hunter\)), a Slovenian family going back millennia. Van Helsing was a product of the same bloodline, albeit of an illegitimate branch.”

Eggsy’s thudding heart plummeted, because this was just more nonsense, the ravings of a deranged stalker. “Get out,” he said, gritting his jaw. His fists were clenched on his knees, white-knuckled with rage. “You don’t—you don’t get to use my father in your twisted delusions.”

“Eggsy—”

“Get out!” Eggsy yelled, but then, in a blur that was impossibly fast, Harry was upon him, pinning him to the sofa, his fingers clamped vise-like around Eggsy’s arms. Eggsy struggled—or tried to—but Harry was immovable. Panic bloomed in Eggsy’s chest, a building terror, as it occurred to him that Harry was unnaturally, unbeatably strong. Eggsy was tenacious, but Harry—was it madness, that gave him such strength?

“Eggsy,” Harry repeated, not even out of breath, “I am not about to leave you, not when I have been searching for you for _years_. Your mother did an excellent job of changing your name, remarrying, and moving from place to place. Sixteen times, in total.”

Eggsy had always thought that was because they kept failing to meet the rent.

“From what I surmise, she must have had the assistance of someone powerful, for a disappearance of the sort she accomplished was nothing short of inspired. Houdini would have envied it.”

His mum, connected to someone powerful? What a load of bollocks. If that were true, they would’ve been living in luxury, and mum wouldn’t have been working three different jobs and tying her hair up with worn-out scrunchies and not buying new clothes for herself, just so she could afford to feed her son.

“Your kind have been systematically and tragically destroyed by mine, which is the cause of your near-extinction. Butnot all of us regarded you as enemies. Some of us—such as myself—regarded you as blessings, the guardians and guarantors of our freedom. The keepers of our deaths. Immortality stretches before us endlessly, desolate and devoid of joy, and when it becomes intolerable, we can only be freed from it by those that were born to hunt us. No other being, living or undead, can slay us. It is a matter of inheritance. Of natural law. A law that has, sadly, been unbalanced.” Harry smiled, a soft, bitter smile. “I saved your grandmother’s life, once, after which she stubbornly refused to take mine. By the stage I found your father, I could not prevent his demise. He was grievously injured. But you…” There was such a longing in Harry’s gaze, such a _weight_ , that Eggsy felt it upon himself as heavily and palpably as a touch. “You, Eggsy, are the key to my salvation. You can set me free.”

Eggsy stared. Harry couldn’t be implying—

How mad was he?

“You’re a lunatic,” Eggsy said, his voice strained, his body trembling. Harry wouldn’t budge, and Eggsy had exhausted himself against that brute force, the fight gone out of him. “Look, just go. I don’t believe in vam—” He couldn’t even make himself say it. “What you’re suggesting.”

“You will,” Harry said, glancing at the setting sun through the mostly-shut curtains. “I sincerely regret any trauma you might experience in the ensuing minutes. It was never my intention to intimidate you.”

“Then maybe you could stop holding me down?” Eggsy said, sarcastically.

Harry simply smiled, but this time, his smile had teeth.

Very big teeth.

That got _bigger_.

Oh, god.

“Oh, god,” Eggsy said, shakily.

“Religious invocations do not, alas, affect me adversely. But if you are reassuring yourself by addressing your prayers to the Almighty, feel free to continue.”

Those weren’t teeth, anymore. They were fangs. Fangs as sharp as that lion’s claw had been, and infinitely more feral.

 _Wake up_ , Eggsy said to himself, frantically. _Wake up. This is a nightmare. A drug-fueled nightmare. Don’t ever eat Digby’s dodgy yoghurt again._

“You’re worryingly quiet,” Harry observed, and his fangs just… vanished. “Eggsy? Are you all right?”

The question was so ludicrous—coming from who it was coming from—that Eggsy regained his powers of speech. “You’re a fucking vampire,” he rasped.

“I haven’t engaged in sexual congress in more than a century, but as to your second claim, yes, I am a vampire.”

“Do you always split hairs?”

“It is among the few amusements left to me.” Harry withdrew, evidently confident that Eggsy needed no further convincing, and sat back down, crossing his legs primly.

Eggsy just lay there, prone on his corner of the sofa, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. He wondered if he ought to phone the hospital, anyway. For himself. He might have a concussion. Or Digby might have spiked his Weetos. Or Eggsy could be hallucinating because of a million other reasons. It could be a neurological disease. It could be encephalitis.

But he’d seen what he’d seen. He couldn’t unsee it. A part of him was morbidly curious about how deep those fangs could go, how quickly they could drain an entire human’s worth of blood.

So, being the little shit he was, he asked.

And Harry answered.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Van Helsing was not, as far as I’m aware, a descendent of the Kresniks, and the Kresniks were never a “family.” I’m just rewriting them as if they were, because I need Eggsy to be their descendant.

**Author's Note:**

> Like my writing? Want updates and sneak previews? Follow me on [Tumblr](http://saucefactory.tumblr.com/)!


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